Harbingers
by Spawn Guy
Summary: An ancient evil is lose and its up to the TMNT, a certain rouge hellspawn and his angle "ally" to stop it. first fic so RnR
1. The Dream

**TMNT/SPAWN **

**HARBINGERS **

**PROLOGUE: THE DREAM**

The teenage mutant ninja turtles, Aprail O'Neil and Casey Jones are TM of Mirage Studios.

Spawn, Maliabolgial and Violator are TM of Todd McFarlane.

Black heart and Typhoid Mary are TM of marvel comics.

Neuron is TM of Dc comics.

I'm using both these culture icons ( and the bad guys) without any sort of legal permission, and will probably end up with the **biggest **law suit since the OJ Simpson trail...but hey, don't hate me for living my dream. From the Shadow-Guy, sitting by the fire, a glass of fine malt whiskey in one hand, a beautiful woman in the other.

Special thanks to Mica, Varthra, The last hero.

_Theirs was a war that should have ended in ancient Japan, as the last of the ancient masters lay his head down and waited for eternal sleep. _

_Theirs was a war that should have ended as a lone figure toppled from a blood stained rooftop, consumed by the hellfire like light of an exploding grenade. _

_But it hadn't. _

_It lasted fifteen years. _

_Inside the raging, tempest tost mind of this lone warrior, it felt as if it would never end..._

_It had been the first time he'd stepped in to a church, that beautiful and fateful day._

_That day so many years ago, as dust moats glinted like diamonds in the light of the stain glass arches, had been the day he'd taken comfort in the light of day and tried to forever leave the all consuming darkness that shrouded his life. _

_He'd stood their in the rented tux itching in places he didn't even know **existed**, thinking what a pain in the ass this was, when she had entered . _

_The beauty had come of her in waves and he'd been their lost in a sea of ecstasy as the choir had chanted **their** song. He could hear them now, almost lost in the recesses of his mind: "Oh happy day! _

_(Oh happy day)! _

_When Jesus walked! _

_(OH when he walked!) _

_Oh Happy day..." _

_And he'd thought he could escape the hell of blood and death and carnage. _

_But he had been damned. _

_Damned to that very hell, damned to an eternal sleep had he not made a deal to see the beauty of his bride one last time. Now, as hellish dreams churned in a maelstrom of chaos, he wondered if he'd ever see any beauty again..._

All around was death and fire.

The chill night air and the pounding rain bit at the flesh of the mutant known as Leonardo, Stinging and drenching him as he ploughed on, facing the enemy he had prepared all his life to defeat in the way of combat and ninjitsu.

Oroku Saki.

The shredder.

But Shredder was dead...beheaded by Leonardo himself.

"_YeS YoU MiSrEbAlE FrEaK!" _

The muscular figure in the silver, multi bladed samurai armour spoke with a leering, almost hypnotic echo in its familiar deep rich and deadly voice.

"_YeS," _It stated again, as though reading Leo's very mind _",YeS, YoU DiShOnUrEd Me, DeAfEaTeD Me , BaNiShEd Me To HeLl ! BuT HeLl Is OnLy So BiG, LeOnArDo, AnD MuTaNtS Do MaKe ThE MoSt InTeReStInG ThInGs To PrAcTiCe ToRmEnTiNg On." _

Leo continued to glare into the blank, dead eyes of his enemy, and then looked around for his brothers.

The New York streets were ablaze, buildings collapsing like explosive dominos, citizens screaming and running around like headless chickens looking for any kind of shelter from the raging war happening around them.

A sea of black and grey flooded the city as Saki's personal army, the foot, ransacked, raped, and mutilated everyone they could lay their hands on.

Leonardo's brothers, also humanoid turtles, were fighting their way through the chaos of the streets, doing all they could to prevent more death and destruction, and then some. Of course.

Leo and the shredder clashed together, like two representations of the storm around them, slashing and pounding each other as each one sought a way of defeating the other.

The reptile like ninja's body had many fresh cuts and scars traced across his leathery hide.

Shredder on the other hand, apart from the many scratches across his purple tunic and silver armour from Leo's earlier attempts, stood tall and apparently uninjured.

"_DiD YoU ReAlLy ThInK It CoUlD EnD ThAt EaSiLy?"_ The warrior hissed.

Then Raphael was riseing out of the maelstrom of foot ninja, red bandana almost blending with the blood that had caked onto his body.

A flash of steel and the sound of tearing flesh, all too familiar to Leo. Chucks of dead matter and excrement spurted from the wound, filling the air with the smell of blood and decay.

"Always knew that guy was fulla shit!" Raph yelled, turning to face Leo.

Leo remained silent as their enemy rose up slowly, his...no,_ it's_...arm hanging limply at its side.

"_YoU ShAlL SuFfEr An EtErNiTy FoR ThIs InDiGnItY!" _Bellowed the creature, as it began to charge towards them.

"Yeah right Darth! What is this? Episode 2?"

The youngest, nunchuch wielding turtle pounced onto shredders back and flipped off, to land next to Leo.

"Mike."

"Miss me?"

"No." His brothers replied in unison.

The creature struggled closer, blood mixing with the rain and flowing off its armour in droplets, mixing with the stinking liquid that was its blood.

"_I WiLl TeAr..." _

A Bo staff hurtled through the air and collided with the side of the creatures head and sending it to the ground.

The staff whipped boomerang like back to a green three fingered hand. "Is this a bad time?" Donatello asked, eyes glinting behind his mask.

Leo didn't answer.

He was too busy charging the monster impersonating Oroku Saki, and ramming his katana blades right into its chest. The armours chest plate gave way, shattering as Leo's katana tore through the weak material of the tunic beneath.

The creature's eyes bulged beneath the samurai helmets all concealing mouth piece. Its body stiffened and then began to dissolve away on the breeze, leaving behind the armour and tunic and the faint smell of excrement.

"Well that went well." Raph commented as the foot soldiers around them also dissolved away with the dead body of their master.

Leo remained silent for a while then smiled. "Hey Mike now you've got all the more reason to take a shower."

Michelangelo made a mock pouting face and whined. "But I don't wanna."

It was true though. They all stank of sweat and excrement and the sooner they got back under ground to the showers in the den the better.

Leo suddenly noticed something.

The streets were deserted.

The fires were gone and wind whistled hollowly through rebuilt and abandoned structures.

The sky that had been hurling down bitter rain mere moments ago was now pitch black with a tint of scarlet around its edges.

The sound of slow footsteps echoed across the empty street and all four turtles turned, looking for the source of the sound.

Casey Jones and April O'Neil were walking slowly towards the group. But something was wrong. They walked slowly, jerkily, like puppets with cut strings and their eyes were blank and dead as the Shredder creatures had been.

"Guys! Guys what's wrong?!"

Raphael began to run towards the couple.

April spoke first, her voice low and quiet ...yet loud and booming and it filled Leos head.

"You must choose Leonardo. Choose well."

Then April and Casey exploded in a mass of green flame as two giant slits opened in the dark sky above glaring down at the group with a green malevolent gaze.

Raph never stood a chance. He was consumed the moment the fire ball erupted.

He didn't even have time to scream.

Mikey did however and it was long and drawn out as he was slowly vaporised.

Leo suddenly felt himself being lifted upwards as the ground beneath him began to rise. "Don!" he cried to his last remaining brother, "Don, grab on hurry!"

He held out a hand, desperate to lift Donatello to safety as the rock levitated skywards...but the effort was in vain.

Don lifted his hand towards Leo's ...only to have a sea of green fire smash down on him, his body vanishing in the blinding green haze.

Leo stared at the boiling earth where his family and friends had been mere moments ago. Waves of green fire hurtled towards him.

But not just that.

A white radiance was hurtling towards the small asphalt island the turtle crouched on. Behind it was... nothing. Just a trail of that same blinding light.

At the same time so was a grey comet leaving behind faint and unrecognizable shapes.

To the west a gold and scarlet streak tore across the air and finally a black tidal wave came crashing towards the same location as the others: the rock Leo was perched on.

And all the while April's voice echoed through his mind._ "CHOOSE, CHOOSE, CHOOSE..." _Then all five waves crashed down on the lone and terrified ninja.

2 feet beneath the city men call New York, the teenage mutant ninja turtle known as Leonardo (Leo to his friends and brothers) awoke from the one of most gruesome and terrifying nightmares he would ever have, sobbing quietly to himself.

After the tears came the vomiting, right onto the floor of his room. When his master came in and asked him what was wrong Leo gave the only answer he could. "I don't know sensei," He whispered, the dream still fresh in his mind, "I just don't know."

Deep in the shadows of the network of alleys, in the most god forsaken part of the Bronx, known to its many homeless inhabitants as "rat city", the creature that had once been Lt Al Simmons awoke screaming.

As he screamed the bizarre costume he wore seemed to explode to life, the large crimson cloak on its wearers back thrashing around like a caged tiger, demolishing rusted garbage cans, hacking head sized chunks of mortar out of the surrounding walls .

Long silver chains attached to a silver skull belt at Simmon's navel whirled around the ally, sending trash and dust flying high into the air.

After about an hour of this, (which scared the hell out of a drug dealer two blocks away) the chains lowered and the cape...didn't stop moving.

It wasn't as fast or as wild as it had been mere moments ago, but it twitched occasionally on its wearers back, fluttering slightly even though there was no breeze, giving off a slightly lethal aura. After breathing heavily for a while, Simmons glanced around at the wrecked alley where he had been sleeping, the decapitated walls and the settling dust.

**SHIT**.

A voice that, quite literally, sounded like death warmed up.

Once again an emerald gaze swept the alley, tacking in the damage.

Another sleepless night beckoned.

Whenever the visions happened this was usually the case, and to the now awakened hell spawn the idea of sitting on his ass for the rest of the night was, quite frankly, unbearable.

With a faint slithering sound, tentacles of the black material clinging to Simmons's body wormed their way up his neck, wrapping around his corpse like face and forming the deaths head mask of Spawn.

With incredible agility, he leaped the full 15 floors of the decaying building, landing on its roof. Maybe he'd get lucky and find some rapists or something to waste.

_Somewhere in Switzerland _

_0.00 local time_

_20 feet below ground_.

Everything was in readiness.

The soft humming of the brethren echoed around the chamber, rising and falling at various intervals, but more or less staying true to the low hiss, like a knife being drawn.

The candles flared illuminating the crimson of blood that formed small pools on the floor of the sparse chamber.

The humming changed to chanting, drowning out the pleading of the drug obsessed Swedish whore, chained to the main altar in front of the 5 or so different slabs, acting as tonight's main sacrifice.

The candles flared and a chill wind started to echo around the chamber, whipping the candle light this way and that.

The woman screamed as the blood that already covered the floor began to bubble and hiss, rising off the floor and even seeping out of the already dead bodies of the slaughtered corpses littering the chamber's various slabs.

The chanting grew to roars of welcome and triumph, as all but one of the grey garbed figures fell on all fours, their faces inches from the floor.

The crimson fluid formed a giant puddle in the middle of an occult pentagram painted in something yellow and fowl smelling.

The tallest of the hundreds that filled the chamber stepped forward, raised the knife and...

**_(( You bring me...this? )) _**

It could only be called a voice because there wasn't much else you could call it.

It went through you and into you and around you. It burned you and tore you and cut you...then did it all over again.

The apparent leader turned to the blood filled center of the pentagram.

A smile lifted one side of his mouth. More like a knife being pulled from a sheath.

"Black heart. Son of Mephisto. I see the eons have yet to curb your arrogant tongue.

A quiver of rage in the shadows.

**_((NEVER...mention my... "Fathers" name. You have a request old one...state it.)) _**

A "tut tuting" sound from lips that appeared to be of flesh that seemed merely 30 years old.

"It is Lucifasa. I take it you're bloated back stabber of a father never mentioned me. And I shall not make my request until _your _superiors are here."

Crimson orbs narrowed to slits in the skull of the mass of black, with an equally obsidian mane behind it.

**_(( I have no superiors...)) _**

Lucifasa smiled again. "You don't even know who my other guests are."

A nail breaking tiger snarl from the monstrosity in the shadows. **_((I do not...nor do I care.))_**

"Ah but you shall," countered Lucifasa "And while I am ...not what I used to be I'm sure both they, and even you, will be interested. And the mortals were mearly the lock to the gateway. They on the other hand..."

A muscular arm indicated the mass of grey, like an ocean in the middle of the chamber.

A pause.

_**((Ah...)) **_

"Yes."

More throbbing and pulsing from the blood on the floor. Two more shapes burst upward, similar to the way Black heart had entered this dimension and world.

Similar...but different.

One was more human looking. In the mortal world he would have been believed to be hansom, with his long blond hair, muscular physical frame and perfect face. But it would have been his eyes that would have sent men and women alike running. They were blank, completely white, containing all of the cold and dreaded infinity of the afterlife's darker side.

The other was _immense _towering over everything in the room. Mismatched teeth squatted and huddled together in the gums of a fowl smelling crocodile like maw. Like the one of human appearance, this apparition had eyes that could stab a blade of fear into any human heart. But these burned away any human soul. The bloated belly supported by spindly, muscular legs with talons matching the razor claws on the equally powerfully frail arms would have been comical if not for the creatures face. A cronomagnam brow contrasted with the malevolent intelligence of the cold hellfire eyes, cut into the middle of an alligator like countenance, the colour of something unspeakable. The reptile like appearance was only spoiled by the unkempt lion like mane of uncoloured hair clinging to the back of its skull.

Neuron and Maliaboliga.

The rulers of Hell.

Even though it wasn't the same Hell.

_# ThIs BeTtEr Be GoOd. I wAs In ThE mIdDlE oF sOmEtHiNg #_

The behemoth picked something small, meaty and pathetic out of sulphurous gums.

"Like devouring another of those disgusting canine trolls on your 3rd level?"

Neurons voice had ice too.

Then he turned.

"Brother."

The two monsters in humanoid form nodded curtly to each other, as if one were beneath the others notice.

Lucifasa drew back the hood of his robe, uncoiling a mass of platinum blond.

_# AwWw...A fAmilY rEuNiOn. I'v CoRuPtEd SoMe Of My BeSt HeLlSpAwN At SoMe Of ThOsE.#_

_**(( These are my** **"Superiors"? A pale, vain imitation of my family's glory and a bloated doppelganger of my father?)) **_

Three unholy heads turned.

Lucifasa waved a perfectly manicured hand irritably.

"Youth. We all know what that was like."

_# YeS. sO mUcH pOwEr In ThE hAnDs Of ThE uNdEsErViNg. We ShOuLd AlL hAvE sNeAkEd Up On HiM. #_

Leathery bulges of flesh rose into the air, the unholy spikes at each end glistening in the poor light of the chamber.

_LeT's SeE hIm CaSt AlL tHaT bLoOdY lIgHtNiNg...WiTh ThEsE iN hIs ThRoAt.#_

"You have to admit the disciple was a success." Again Neurons lips cut a neat sneer into his face. "30 pieces of silver...my idea ._Naturally_."

_# BiG wOrDs...FrOm A lItTlE mAn...#_

"Enough."

Lucifasa hadn't raised his voice. But there was enough of a whip like crack to cause the two to turn from each other to face him.

"Enough talk. I imagine you are all hungry."

Again a gesture to the mass of grey robes.

"These...creatures have served their purpose. But there is still one to fulfil."

_# YuM.#_

One of the brethren rose a fraction, uncertainty, fear and a primal survival instinct clashing together in his head. Another purpose to fulfil? _Yum_?

There had been promises of power, women, insane wealth...

Then there was the wet sound of flesh being pierced and the snap of a fist punching through muscle, bone and tissue.

By he time the man was dead, a hundred others had joined him. More blood discoloured the floor.

"Satisfying?"

"Hmm.."

**_((acceptable.)) _**

_# TaStEd BeTtEr.#_

Lucifasa stepped onto the flight of stairs leading to a raised golden throne.

He filled the chair, a man clearly used to power.

"After dinner mint?"

Reality shifted and a rock wall beside the throne ceased to be. A woman in a hooded, yet revealing grey robe stepped forward, a tray supporting full golden chalices and a bowl full of something twitching, posed on her splayed fingers.

_# JuSt OnE fOr ThE rOaD.#_

Maliaboliga reached out, immense thin bloated spindly fingers snatching a writhing hand full of scorpions. Neuron eyed him in disgust.

"_Really_. And after we just ate. You're spoiling us _former_ brother."

And for the briefest Pico second... Lucifasa's eyes held the same cold inferno of his brother's.

Then he was smiling again.

"So you remember. Hard to forget I suppose. You," He turned to Black heart ",described it as a "request". It is not. More a...proposition."

And he explained it to them.

He explained to them the millennia long plan he had formed. He explained the reason. He told them of the individuals that he required. He told them of the 5 particular individuals involved. He told them what was in it for him and ...them.

Silence.

Silence, as eon old minds digested the information, like an antique, looking for any flaws, any accidents that may happen, and any consequences that may return to haunt them.

Finally Maliaboliga spoke.

_# So...I gEt My ErRaNt ...AsSeT. aNd ThEy ReCiVe...#_

"..Two of 4 exceptional fighters." Neuron rubbed a statuesque chin.

**_(( How "exceptional" are these fighters?)) _**

"They defeated Savanti Romeo. Twice."

**_((A mere trickster wizard? Still for mere mortals, freaks or not, that is...impressive.)) _**

_# Im In. ItS bEeN dUlL dOwN tHeRe LaTlEy.#_

_**(( I agree. We two accept.)) **_

Lucifasa's eyes didn't flicker, his face muscles didn't twitch. Any sign of anticipation, excitement or apprehension could ruin everything. Millennia spent waiting would be wasted. _If _he wasn't careful.

"And you ...brother?"

For a time, the two brothers stared at each other, one infinitely cold stare matching the other. It lasted for two minutes and an eternity. Then Neuron shook his head.

"I do not accept your terms..."

Lucifasa felt his heart (If that's what it could be called) sink. A significant part of his scheme lay in his sibling's cooperation...

"...nor do I refuse to take part."

The twins bobbed their heads, one in affirmation, the other I acceptance.

"I am held by no rules or restrictions. And I name my reward for my part in this little game of yours. Understood?"

"Perfectly."

And then they were gone. With nothing but the blood and death left in their wake.

Lucifasa allowed himself a small smile.

"Bring me the photos."

The tray in the robed woman's hand ...ceased to function as a tray. In _this_ reality.

She now held 5 photographs. A well manicured hand griped them, slid them into its own iron grasp.

The first was blurred at best. Shapeless shades of grey clashed against each other, the only thing less well developed in the photo besides them being the three faint images of the single rooftop they hovered around. However that was not what the cold gaze sought. The prey was sighted right there, in the centre, like a wild buck in the mechanical gaze of a rifles cross hairs. Green. With red. Almost reptilian one would imagine...if one didn't know that they were.

The second was a photocopy from one of those cheapskate news papers that always print in black and white. Again this was not a good one: shadows crowded the image almost covering the figure dead in the centre, if not for the illumination of the glow around its open, clawed hand. A long cloak writhed behind it; the glow of its hand glinting off the airborne chains from it's naval. Above the photo was the largest waste of ink the tabloid was likely to produce. The headline read: WHO IS ...THE SPAWN?

Photo number three was impressive and unimpressive, a basic birds eye view of New York from a CIA satellite. The fourth came again from the CIA, a physiatrist's report this time. The photo displayed a young woman. A woman who worshipped the death and insanity that necessitated her appearance in this report. Her hair stood up in an unkempt mass, one strand trying, and failing, to hide her face. One side was covered in white makeup, contrasting with the black of her eyes and the insanity within. This was Typhoid Mary.

The fifth was again shrouded in darkness, but what could be seen would have caused brave (and foolish) men to piss themselves in terror. The Violator, one of hells more earth bound offspring. 500 lbs of insectiod bloodlust. A useful tool.

Lucifasa held the photos at arms length, scrutinising them. These 7 would play a vital role in his plan to take back what was his. What **would** be his. And then...

He couldn't help it. The laughter came. It was insane, unstable and above all unnecessary and melodramatic. But it came. The photographs were tossed to the wind, igniting with the foul stench of brimstone before gravity could claim them.

Lucifasa stopped howling with delight and turned to the woman.

"Now my dear Samoana... a little entertainment for your new master."

This was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself to enjoy in this body. Without a word the woman reached for the clasp that held her hood and robe to her frame...and undid it. She stood before Lucifasa, the dim light shining off her naked skin...then climbed into his lap. Within seconds the large mans robes were on the floor and he was violating a woman...who looked exactly liked the slaughtered female atop the chambers main slab. Lucifasa would have laughed again; had not Samona's though been in his mouth. Within a few short days he would rule a legion of souls male and female alike, just as he now ruled her. His day would come...and nothing the rouge spawn or mortal freaks could do would stop him.

Enjoy yourselves? This is my first fic so let me know how I did. And don't worry ...the guys and Al will meet up. Whether they join to stop Lucifasa or just rip each others hearts out is up to me but hey I'm a freedom lover... say which one ya want.

Read, review and may your asses stop itching soon.


	2. First Blood

**HARBINGERS **

**1: FIRST BLOOD **

You people! I ask you to Read and review and to tell me whether the guys and spawn should play the "misunderstanding fight" game or not and do you? LIKE HELL YOU DO! Any way no more waiting. I'm updating this thing. But be warned this shall not be forgotten! In fact I think I'll update my plans to conquer the world as well! Muhahaha…Ah screw it. Read.

This takes place after words and warlocks and contains spoilers.

_New York _

_9.30 am_

_Sunday October 11th _

"What is it?"

Donatello sighed loudly, hopping to deter his brothers umpteenth (10th actually, he'd been keeping count) question. In vain as it turned out.

"Don…What is it?"

"Let's go over this again."

Green hands rubbed at a faint liquid ring imposed on ancient leather(or something very similar),not so much removing it as spreading liquid streaks across the cover. Not satisfied, but not wanting to drag it out, Donatello placed the book back admits the metallic clutter spread across the dust coated, polished surface of the work table.

"It is a century's old magic tome with access to several major audio respondent extrademensional power sources, or "spells" as the rest of the world would have them, and the works of some sort of ancient despot, conducting major experiments into the presences we would best describe as a "soul". I do not know why Strange gave it to me, but he did. It is not, and let me be perfectly _clear _about this…"

Don's voice raised slightly, the tones of some one clinging to the edge of exasperation.

"…_a coaster_!"

Michelangelo lowered a yellowing mug from a cappuccino ringed beak.

"Yeah…but what _is _it?"

His shell preventing his shoulders from quite hitting the back of the chair, Don sagged.

_Come in number 11. Your time is up. _

Silver glinted in black, untraceable, unhindered, cutting early evenings shadow. Leonardo had been doing this for so long he was only half aware of what he was doing. The mutant's mind wondered slightly, half way into thought, never quite out of range of lessons that became a part of life as learning to walk did.

_Focus. _

He swung elegantly, one, twoand turning he…

…_winced as the blades found a soft target, slipped across the blood soaked alley, breath burning through his lungs. The cold bit at his cuts with the blades ferocity but he ignored the burning salt and copper screams running from his side. Keep running, that was the important thing, forget the blood, forget the cold, forget the pain. Keep running… _

…jump and kick, turn, one, two, bring the flat of the blade across…

…_slash at the nearest foot ninja, keep running, a side kick to the throat of the next. A clattering behind him, a chain link fence giving way into the snow as even more foot solders forgot about stealth and subtlety, just attacking. He fled through the slashing mass, lunging eyes shut against the storm of sharpened steel and wood, the biting metallic coldness of the first rung of the fire escape strangely warm in his hand. Something thudded off his shell, the hollow swelling sensation quickly lost in the catalogue of other wounds and sensations he gathered on this fools errand. He kicked down, his foot coming into contact with something, most likely a human skull, he couldn't tell, he'd lost all feeling in it. Keep running. He began to climb… _

…sweep around, one, two, kick, jump, swing. He opened his eyes, then shut them, trying to turn the movements into a lifeline, some form of saviour from the tilde wave of memories…

…_the pale light of the construction site lamps blurred bloodied vision. His head swam, he wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore. It was too bright here, too cold and burning and bright. Dust, steel, light, stone, the air blocked by bodies. Behind him. Why fight when you can run? Steel hissed and he spun round, katanas held firm in cold, bloodied, nerveless hands. And when you can't run? The foot solders formed two rows, a shadow red sea parting. And he was there. Muscle and mind, peace and typhoon, Calculation and steel determination. It couldn't be. Not him. But it was. Anyone could put on the armour, but no one could march like a storm cloud: still air and unbound raw power. He couldn't run. Not even if he wanted to…_

…Left, right, one, two, cut, thrust, back. His muscles became weights, cast iron he could barely move…

…_The beating (to his eternal embarrassment) took merely 20 minutes. His last actual thought before he was tossed limp and spent through April's window wasn't worth repeating. The world dissolved around him, hands propping him upright. Or trying to. But he had to give the message, surly the only reason he was still alive. _

"_He's…" _

_His throat was dry, an empty reservoir he barley managed half fill with swallowed saliva and blood. _

"…_back…the shredder…" _

Dust and stone flew, came close to breaking in the grip of spider web cracks, as Leonardo slammed the hilt of the katana straight into the rooftops ledge.

_No! _

His hands were shaking, damn it, his hands were shaking! The pressure came hard and fast, the world was wrong. Something was here with him…whispering, biting, dragging…Wrong…a sensation like he was a cylinder in a world of squares…

_This is not then! Forget it! _He told himself, the blind leading the blind_, this is not that day when you were foolish enough to take on an entire army by yourself! This is not the day you were tossed through April's window, helpless as a babe! _

Turmoil filled eyes focused for the first time on the three fingered vices, digging, actually _digging_ into the ledge. No pain…which probably meant he'd crushed all nerves. Yet…no blood. Leo stared at his hands, lifting them to blank stunned eyes. There wasn't much else he could do.

A dull roar overhead. Like water in his head.

He collapsed onto his shell, the sound of armour plaiting sliding on cinderblock. Above an airliner, a thundering arrow in the star lit night descended slowly vanishing into the horizon.

The pressure…released.

Leo felt the exhaustion desert him, the sensation in his head an echo.

And yet…

It made sense in an impossible sort of way. Something on that airliner was wrong. It was the cause of this somehow. And he felt it, like he'd run a finger over a smooth glass surface, blind folded…found a crack. Something was _evil_.

And it was in New York.

Reptilian feet hit the other roof, started running.

_10:30 am _

"I dunno nothin'…_I swear I dunno nothing_!"

Chains rattled, annoyed, eager to let go.

All too eager.

So was Spawn.

**TURK…YOU KNOW WHAT'LL HAPPEN IF YOU LIE. **

"_I ain't lying man, I swear!" _

Emerald slits narrowed. Metal swayed _this_ way and _that_ a little more. Turk, like a lot of stool pigeons, was unpredictable at times. He could use a little coxing occasionally…apparently Daredevil coxed him a lot. A lot like this.

Still, maybe the whiney little bastard had grown use to being suspended over a 4 story drop. Spawn would have chosen 20 but (a) This was the Bronx and (b) information was needed in a hurry.

A couple of nights back the disappearances started. It wasn't noticed in the alleys at first and God _forbid_ New York's finest take an interest in the homeless, missing or other wise. Rumours started that some had become tired of the rule of the alleys and simply hitched a box car to Gotham. As far as Spawn was concerned _the Bat _could keep them. Some suspicion had risen however, a few regulars at the shelters absent from the usual crowd, a drinking buddy missing here and there.

Back when he was alive, Simmons's wouldn't have spat at one of these derelicts, continued a life taken far too much for granted. But when he'd returned, a husk, clad in living liquid black and red, the new poster child for _Night of the undead,_ friends and family had been out of the question. Spawn had qualms about acknowledging the denizens of rat city as "friends"… but combat taught you about territory.

How the people in it belonged to you no matter how much you whished it other wise.

How if they were taken, it was a mere matter of time before your territory was taken.

How losing your territory was unacceptable.

A week or so of frustrating searching allowed him to trace the earliest disappearances to somewhere on the borders of rat city, close to the abandoned section of the docks, full of convenient warehouses. Various unmarked vehicles had been noticed close too the area and heating places were common.

Spawn was eager to discover what was so interesting about this cargo that it required the abduction and murdering of _his_ people from refuge. Rip the door off and slaughter the bastards eager. But the first thing every marine instructor did was to tell each and every rookie never, _never_, go in without briefing. Or the correct information.

Blood rushing to his head, the October air biting at his unshaven face, Turk briefly considered trying to pry the chains loose.

Briefly.

**TURK. I'M GOING TO ASK AGAIN. LAST CHANCE. **

_That voice _was more terrifying than Daredevil, death forcing it's way through his chest.

He didn't need this.

He'd been ready to join Grotto and the rest of the rabble at _Josie's_.

Then this God damn freak had landed behind in a rustle of red leather, a flash of metal.

And now…

**TURK… **

Warehouses. The freak needed dock side warehouses.

"Okay…okay lemme think man…"

A rattle, the horizontal street shook.

**THINK HARDER. **

"A…A…couple weeks ago…oh man…some…some guy…Swedish rich guy…Swedish… yeah …called…called…t…t…the cartel…yeah…"

Air rushed past and Turk was face to face with those eyes.

**HE WANTED TRANSPORT RIGHT? PICK UPS? **

"Y…yeah…"

**WHAT OF? **

"Dunno…needed trucks…lotta trucks…real sec…secret…oh man…"

**WHY? **

"I …I got no clue man…no clue…aw man…the docks…_the docks_…_secret pickups…_secret…S'allI_ know_ _man_…_I swear thas all I know!" _

A pause of consideration.

Then a metallic whip crack.

Turk was thrust out into a windy abyss and he screamed all the way down.

Or through.

Dust rose as a human body bounced off the roof of the adjacent building. Metal resonated as Turk banged against an air conditioning unit. He picked himself up, jabbering. He should have expected this: never waste a good stooile if you can avoid it.

On the plus side, the freak was gone, as night people so often were.

On the negative side, he was 4 stories up with no roof exit.

_10:37 _

_Flatiron _

"So how's Shadow doing in school?"

"Great, great."

Casey Jones was too old for this. Which was probably why he loved it so much.

Life was easier to handle with a baseball bat in hand and a nine iron for back up.

Except small talk.

He hated small talk: he suffered no illusion to the inadequacies which festered and hid inside his words and those of others for his behalf.

Luckily his best friend wasn't good at it either.

"So you dragged me from my spire cause…?"

Casey grinned with everything but his mouth.

Raphael was worse.

"C'mon Case man…I was ready to check in with the guys and Splinter, do a couple rounds of the 'hood…maybe the kitchen. And then you call with no explanation, no nothing. Then make me wait a couple more minutes while you grab your gear. Excuse me if I sound a little P.O'd but I had plans."

Casey nodded, hockey mask fidgeted from hand to hand, took a deep breath.

"Last Friday…at the shelter…we got a lot smaller bunch than we normally do."

"So? Not every bum can get off his ass after a bottle of hooch."

"Hey, hey!" Desperate gestures to the bedroom door. "This ain't like old times…we got a kid in here!"

"A sleeping kid," Raph said (which was as close to an apology as Casey was going to get) ", who has _you_ for a dad. Anyway, a few bums don't show up, what's the beef?"

Okay. Here came the hard part.

"Raph…their all from rat city. _Spawn_ territory."

"Aww Christ…not you too!" Hands and head in the air, exasperation thick as city smog…yep, that was Raph. An urban legend which didn't believe in an urban legend. Ironic. Typical. Expected.

"You actually believe that crap?"

"Hey I hang out with "the leprechaun men of the sewers" and I get this?"

Bandana tails trailing, Raphael shook his head.

"You read it in the _Bugle_ Casey. _The Bugle_!"

"The _Planet _ran a story on it!"

"Oh so you trust Lois Lanes opinion over mine now?"

Casey stood up from the chair, face to face with reptilian stubbornness.

"That ain't the point! Look they all agree that this thing, if it exists…"

"Which it doesn't!"

"_If _it exists…" Casey pushed frustration back. Arguing with Raphael was like throwing rocks at a tank. "If it exists, it hangs out around some alleys somewhere in the city. For a couple of months, people have been _crawling_ out of there with broken hands, some _missing entire_ _body_ parts. Then, the kind of people who live, yeah you heard right, _live _there are gone. No explanation, gone."

"So?"

"There's this…this thing…crawling around mutilating people. Do the math!"

"Why do you _care_?"

"_You mean you_ _don't_?"

The apartment air rang with tension. Casey was aware of a pulsing sensation, hot like a blow lamp in winter.

"Back at the shelter…their was an old girl. Mary. Always helping when she could…never did nothing to nobody. Then she went missing. Just like all the rest. Cops couldn't give a damn if you paid them. Some drunk …it ain't acceptable but it's understandable cause its easier."

Casey swallowed, breathed, looked Raph right in the eye.

"An old lady he only ever wanted to help life…got a dozen different shit breaks…and still wanted to help…that's different."

_Payback different. _

"The only ones who are remotely interested in these cases…and there are roughly a dozen in this neighbourhood alone …are a couple of PIs who have their own reasons for looking into them, I'm not sure if there the right ones. So I was gonna put the mask n clubs together, see if this Spawn guy _did_ have anything to with it. Thought you might like to help. Thought you cared. Guess I was wrong!"

Raph was avoiding eye contact now.

"Look…that came out wrong…"

"No it didn't, did it?"

It wasn't an actual question.

Casey just stood their for a few minutes, unsure. Then headed for the window.

"Does April know?"

Casey froze, didn't turn around. When he did a guilty glance was cast towards the door.

"She doesn't."

"No. I figured…Y'know…"

"She doesn't want you involved."

"No."

Silence. Then Raph walked slowly to the window, undid the catch.

"C'mon Jason. Some ones gotta keep an eye on you."

Casey's smile was hidden behind the mask.

The air was cold but ignored, abandoned by the thrill of leaping rusting gutters and fire escapes, jumping the gaps between one roof and the next , the horizon in front, behind and around , endless.

"So who'd you stick on the case?"

"Aw I dunno…Burke and…Burke and Wilis…?

_10: 40 _

"…an a side a fries while your out."

"Super size sir?"

"Ah I'm onna diet but what the hell."

Various files stacked with almost terrifying care and tidiness, Twitch Williams rose from his small well kept chair (an anniversary gift) and crossed to the office door. Out of all the office, Sam Burke decided, that door was the most neutral. Simple aged wood. Twitch's desk was an island of organisation in a sea of his crap. There was an almost visible line in the office. If you knew what you were looking for. For example, _Sam's _side contained the remains of an entire weeks worth of snacks, the walls and floors a slightly stained colour. _Twitch's_ was so damn neat.

A nugget butter bar treat clasped in one hand, Sam sent another broad slab (which had K.Od many a perp) after the latest file already trying to catalogue itself in the almost yellowing land mass of past cases. _Arnold Jones_. Experienced eyes scanned the script for the 5th time that day. Same story as the other shelters. Only this one hadn't gone to Burke and Williams old pals in the prescient. Smart. And observant. Most of the file contained a search that suggested the disappearances occurred some where close to rat city. So they weren't the only ones who'd noticed. And if they'd noticed…

**BURKE. **

The bar jumped, fell, broke, spilling nugety goodness across the floor .

"Geez…Simmons …gimme a heart attack why…"

**SHUT UP. **

Sam's mouth slammed shut, with no conscious effort. Briefings, the interrogation room, he could take. This guy…

**YOUV'E BEEN LOOKING INTO THE CASE? **

"Yeah…," _Careful with this guy, you're talking to Spawn. Don't forget it._ ",…we were asked to. Some guy does part time work for some shelter. Got interested and did some investigating. I say some but…"

Air blurred , metal clanked.

"Shit!"

The chains shifted, dancing snake like, lifting the file to black talons.

Emerald showed no blink of surprise, the cape denied all body language.

Spawn was unreadable, unpredictable.

And probably preferred it that way.

**HAVE YOU LOOKED INTO THE WAREHOUSE ON THE DOCKS WHERE THEY MEET THE ALLEYS? THERES BEEN SOME ACTIVETY INVOLVING A CARTEL SPONSERED TRUCKING COMPANY. A SWEDISH BUYER. **

"The warehouses with the heating vents? Plenty of steam release tubes?" Bulk rose, swivel chair spinning , and crossed to one of several dominating fileing cabinets. Sam drew a medium sized file, flicked through it. "Okay I think we got something. Lucas Sahara. Swedish business trading genius. Clean. Very clean. Owns a couple of harbour side warehouses. What…"

Piggy eyes turned to living shadow…

…and went wide.

Leonardo was half way to the lair before his brain was _slashed _in half, blood bursting from under his eyes. The agony was closer this time, intense. He fought, struggled…

…hit the next ledge head first, and let the flailing lead weights of his arms and legs drag him down.

"Hey…you ok? Cut it out…aw jeez…"

The cape raked.

The chains slashed.

Simmons bled.

"You uh…you want I should get a tissue? Or something?...er…"

Liquid night sealed shut, the pool of necroplasma ignored. Ostensibly.

**JUST BE THERE IN HALF AN HOUR, MAKE SURE THE COPS DON'T SCREW THIS UP, FOLLOW UP ON ANY LEADS I FIND. **

"That's breaking and entering buddy."

**SO FIND SOMEONE WHO GIVES A SHIT.**

Leather stretched, like blood spreading, draining from an exit wound, and Spawn was gone.

_Shit. _

The chair rattled, let out a death squeak . Sam Burke was too old for this.

Which was probably why he loved it.

Hinges creaking the door opened and Twitch was inside the office. Surrounded by the smell of salt, fries, ooh, ooh and the BBQ special inna bun.

"Sorry I'm late sir. There was only one squeaky toy left. I had to race an old lady for it."

Trained eyes took in the office, the almost invisible tell tale signs.

"He was in here…wasn't he sir?"

Sam undressed the food ,glanced at the clock.

_Damn you Simmons, I'd swear you do this to me deliberately. _

"Up we get young sir."

Hands.

Old hands.

Warm and comforting.

Like Splinters.

"Wha…?"

"Easy now, easy. Wouldn't want to hurt your… back now."

Leonardo stirred, felt cold New York air. The shroud of his brain stopped smothering thoughts , like flies in a web. Traffic tooted its way back in to his scenes and the feeling of sweat began to set in. So did pain.

"Ow. Ow. Ow Ow Ow Ow. Ow."

"Easy."

Leo looked up. And up again, into a beard.

Quick eyes took in the rags, frayed yet still discernable as a respectable evening suit.

Long beard, starting at a living moustache, which spawned many a new hair .

Probably not the kind the media would believe not right away any way.

"Thanks mister…"

"Cagliostro my dear boy. But call me Count. Everybody does."

"Yes, well…I'm not everybody …"

"Count" pushed the overkill brim of his hat a few more inches up his bald head.

"Your secrets safe with me."

"Er…thank you."

_A manhole cover. I need a manhole cover. Good God in heaven I need a manhole cover._

Skilled hands cleared away the dirt and garbage, found circular metal.

"One moment."

Leo paused, turned.

"Do you believe in God?"

"I'm sorry?" It was almost too…simple. And yet so complex.

There was a pause. After all the violence, the injustice, the blood…

…the Shredder…

…did he really, _could_ he really believe?

"I believe in …something."

"So you have faith?"

"Sort of."

"Ah."

Old eyes twinkled, stars in shadow.

"Thank you. I shall take up no more of your time."

As he vanished into familiar urban darkness, Leonardo didn't hear: "You're going to need it."

All right I've had time to think about this and I've decided. The stage is set; most of the players are out. I still believe in listening to readers opinions, I _am_ one. So please…RnR. I still want to know if you want the guys (especially Raph) to take on Spawn. Adios.


	3. Archangels

**2: Archangels**

Well…it had to happen sooner or later. Seriously people, reviews encourage me to write faster. Seriously. So you know…do it. Seriously. T (if that is your real pen name) thanks for the review and the guys will certainly give Al a hard time and if your confused by anything else just tell me and I'll email you an answer if I can. Also don't worry about Leo. A lot is riding on him. Then again…no. Be very afraid.

Guy 

_11:00 am _

He lived for moments like these, he really did. Bandana tails whirling like a mad butterfly in a perfume shop, Raphael landed on the next roof paused next to a _Stark Solutions _bill board, waiting for Casey. Still two gutters behind. And a convenience store.

"C'mon man. Can't expect me to wait around for ya every couple of roofs."

"Just cause…some of us weren't…getin ready to be the next…Jackie Chan at birth…doesn't mean this old pro can't jump a couple of brownstones…"

The answer was slow, panting. Wary. And with good reason. A _squeakshriek _of trainer on rusting metal, a startled "whoa!", the mad clacking of bats and clubs, and Casey was suddenly travelling vertically downward.

Green blurred through night air, a manacle of reptilian skin clutched a human wrist.

Casey, breath coming quick yet sharp and rhythmic, managed a relived sound. Raph pulled him up seemingly effortlessly, and propped him against the board.

There was a gasping pause as they both lent against firm cardboard and steel. Then Raph said "Okay…one: that's a grocery store. And two…"

The slap carried hardly any weight, yet Casey still felt something run up his shoulder.

"…Jackie Chan? Never insult me like that again."

Another pause. Then laughter, clear and heartfelt. Raphael was still winding down as Casey wiped an eye, stood up abruptly. " C'mon. We still got a couple of blocks to go before we get there. And eh…"

Another effortless jab. "…next time I'll make sure it's Bruce Lee." The laughter came harder this time.

_I need this_, Raphael realised, _I need this like I need to breath. Hell, more than that. _

Not just the jokes, which came easier than with the others, but the rooftops. The numberless surfaces which festooned the horizon. The reassuring carpet of stone and concrete, all the more comfortable for its firmness. And Casey. The forces that made them kindred spirits, which drove them both.

And made it one hell of a wild ride.

"So where are we going exactly?"

"I told ya, rat cit…"

"Yeah, I got that but…_where_? I mean it's a bunch of different alleys ain't it?"

_Probably, should have asked this before. Instead, I just followed Casey out on what's goanna be one very long boring goose chase. _But he was what he was.

Still, Casey surprised him.

"We're goanna sneak in through what's technically the front door, rooftop style of course, then we're goanna get the lay' a the land a little, look for someone. _Ninja style_. Don't want to spook the natives."

"And who are we looking for?"

Casey took the lead, eyes grim behind the mask. "There's a guy called Count."

_11:15_

The lights of the hotel shone amidst the New York skyline, any number of earthbound diamonds in darkness. The lobby, still open even at this hour, was the virtual wasp nest, the drones that were porters, bellhops and maids moving here and there, obeying orders of the hive minds that were the management. The leather of the chair folded easily, moulding comfortably as Lucifasa reclined back. Even he needed the chance to relax after a Swedish/American overnight flight. The arrival had gone as anticipated. Of course. The particular factions of Hydra and Cobra who monitored Kennedy airport had felt no need to make any surprise moves on the Latverian diplomat who had paced down the isle with crowds of other VIPs and businessmen. The others, at least two of them, were keeping to their part of the bargain.

Bargain.

It was an almost laughable term for what he had just done. He'd been human for too long. A millennium too long. It was different for Vandal Savage and his like. On some level they knew how to handle it. They had never risen to the heights he had, dreamed of achieving the higher ones. Tried to.

Still, maybe that bastard backstabber Mephisto had done him a favour, slipping him under the radar like he had. Long ago, far too long ago, the notion of this would have been laughable. _They_ didn't consider him a threat now though. Some had even forgotten of his ever existing. And that was going to be the most stupid thing _They _had done since putting the tree in the garden.

"Sir."

The man's voice was like a polite cough. Lucifasa held the rim of his sunglasses, pulled down midnight black, revelling terse and piercing blue. What had _become _terse and piercing blue.

"Yes?"

"Hthere is a young woman on the phone for you sir."

Ignoring the disapproval the waiter was _trying_ to slip into his voice, Lucifasa pushed the glasses back. Finest white Italian silk rose from the recliner, shifted across the room as though he had a second skin. Before he reached the phone corner of the bar he paused.

The air was alive with alcohol and potential misdeeds just waiting to happen. And somewhere unseen, the PA system was playing _Devil may care_. He couldn't resist.

He turned; smile half hidden, to the balding waiter, who bore a damnable resemblance to Shaun Connery sans the beard.

"Tell me my good man… what would you do for a ninety nine million dollars?"

Elderly eyes flashed. The man nearly blew up right there. Lucifasa couldn't help but smile with knife thin lips.

_Unholy fire, he's going to cough politely any minute now._

"Well sir…" the man began. He stopped.

He coughed politely.

"How much was that…again…sir…?"

Ah the trailing away voice, the shock setting in nicely and…was that just a hint of a lower east London accent?

"A million." said Lucifasa tacking care to say it as though he were a 15 year old with a toy bear "It's just a question, you understand. Standing around with stuffy businessmen, executives with faces like a pit bull's backside…some times it just feels good to receive an answer that doesn't involve upper management consultation, or inter company portfolio procedure…what ever that is."

"Well sir…I…ah…"

And now, Lucifasa reckoned, for the final pitch.

"Anything?"

The man didn't answer, he didn't have to. That's what eyes were for.

"Oh you don't have to answer now of course. An I.O.U will do. I'll have my people call yours, we'll do lunch, I'll call in the favour when ever it's convenient."

The man's face was red as though burnt by air friction.

Sometimes mortality really was worth it. Especially when you weren't mortal. You had time to know the species and what they couldn't predict. How do you get a real poker face? Remove your eyes. Or better yet your opponents.

"Miss Walker."

The knife flashed across again at the satisfying sound of indrawn breath, something that could have been hidden had it been anyone else. To her credit she recovered well.

"_Yeah big boy it's me. I prefer Typhoid when I'm doing a big job._ _You got_ a _big job_ _for me?"_

Very nice, even though the tone of dripping honey was dulled slightly by electronics.

"Yes Miss Walker, I do. I believe you were once involved with the supernatural."

An annoyed and startled pause.

"_Well I've had a run in with a devil or two…" _

"That's public record. I am not, let me be perfectly clear, talking about a deluded, hypocritical, redemptionalist lawyer."

Ah, the indrawn breath. The only sweeter sound was a death rattle.

"_Hmm…good info baby. I'm saying nothing though."_

A platinum blonde brow was raised.

"Oh no?"

"_I'm a pyrokinetic and a telekinetic. I see a lot of strange things." _

She was pouting now, playing harder to get, to try and see the extent of his knowledge. He was not one to disappoint.

"You became part of the demon Mephisto's attempt to conquer all earth, while being hired by Wilson Fisk to kill Matthew Murdock."

No gasp this time. She was growing use to the game.

"_Hmm…Come to think of it, yeah I have met a very horny guy. Leathery too. Skin like blood and wine and those eyes …" _

The line rattled with a burst of pleasure.

"…_like my soul, baby." _

"That's the fellow. Since we're getting into the topic how about we discuss what that involved." She was interested now; he could feel it through the line.

"_Brimstone and death and fire…oh the smells. The fun! The streets full of corpses, the writhing damned…every little detail. Like New Year only with decent music. Good times…" _

She was also getting horny. This woman wasn't a God send. She wasn't the result of the darkness ether, except the dying light of her own universe…remerging in constant Armageddon. He'd made the right choice.

"How would you like to be part of something bigger?"

She was his.

"_Blunt. I like that. Is this business or pleasure? I would love to see your face…and one or two other fun parts." _

"Both." Said Lucifasa.

"_Oooh. And all for only one million dollars? You're my kind of guy babe. Big on money, gore and glory…wonder how you taste." _

"You read the files?" Lucifasa was seated now, down but straight. Business, not pleasure.

Not yet anyway.

"_Strict too. Yeah, I read your Sci-Fi novels. Almost wet myself, but it ought to_ _be worth it. One thing though." _

"Hmm?"

"_Aren't the animal rights guys' goanna go crazy_?"

_Hells bells, but he loved this woman! _

"When the overall scheme is set into motion, they will hardly be in a position to care."

"_You say when? Confident aren't you?" _

"I have nothing to loose. Quit literally. Because I will not loose. You know your target?"

"_From the ass up baby. Every scar on his little green back. His styles like a dirty book to me." _

"And what to do if any of the other specific individuals get involved?"

"_Yeah but it won't come to that. Typhoid's sly, you dig?" _

"So it is him and only him."

"_Gotcha." _

A lock of hair was pushed aside, the Brandy sipped by perfect lips.

"You also know you will be working with a partner."

"_I'm more than enough for you baby, but I'll try anything once. She cute?" _

"A gentleman actually. Not much to look at…but talented. You will meet him at the specified time."

"_So I'm goanna have two play mates when you let me out of this hotel room. You ever going to let me see your handsome face?" _

"Be good my dear…or don't, I need you at your sharpest. But when everything is underway, this visage will be cast across existence."

"_I'm seeing stars all ready and I'm tingling just thinking about it! You sure know how to show a girl a good time babe!" _

"Then our business is concluded. Enjoy yourself."

"_One last thing. What are you wearing?" _

"_Goodbye_, Miss Walker. And don't call me babe."

The phone was slammed down, a blonde main cast back, and the brandy was downed in one shot. Lucifasa smiled, snow white teeth shining and everything.

He was in the bar, had just set up a relationship with a _deliciously_ evil woman, who he knew from the tone of her voice had been wearing nothing at all, and the song had changed to _living la Vida loca._ He was indeed, going to have a good time. But first…

_11:29 _

_Flatiron _

_In her dream, everything was fine. The air was warm like water, just as difficultly easy to tread through. And her family was their…then the dream shattered. Leo rolled from the window, like a leaf in a hurricane, and even though he stood up she knew, she just knew, and he turned to her as if to say oh my God you're right and then he fell apart, and Raph was screaming and bending and suddenly the room was on fire and something black was rising out of the floor and Casey rushed it , and it ripped his head off and underneath was the mask, that awful white mask, except she knew it was his skull and then the thing was coming towards her, opening a blood black mouth and shouting like a phone… _

April O'Neal jerked out of bed, some small strands of brunet hair finding their way to her eyes. She brushed them away in half asleep annoyance, but there was no real point. The room was pitch black.

_Just a dream. Just some crazy dream. _

The phone rang again, the three sharp and high notes echoing throughout the apartment. She heard stirring in the next room and sighed. She was going to have to see to Shadow whenever she'd finished with the lunatic who had decided to call at-she glanced at the red numbers-Christ, 14 minutes before midnight.

Well damage done, the sooner she got rid of the idiot, the sooner she could be back in bed. Owing to the fact this was New York it was probably a wrong number.

_Beep _

"_Hi this is the Jones, O Neil residence. This is April speaking…" _

And now the answering machine, mother of God the answering machine.

"_Honey I'm hoooome…"_

"_Casey! Not now, I'm…What** is** that?" _

"_Huh? Oh just something Donny lent me. Doesn't smell too good what with the oil and all, but he wanted me to check the inside, see what else it needed. Obviously he couldn't…wasat?" _

"_That was the answering machine before you…"_

Enough was enough.

"Yeah, hi this is April O'Neal." Somehow she managed to keep the irritability and yawn out of her voice. They always said she had a greater disposition towards people. Apparently even idiot phone people who called at almost midnight. She sighed. It was too late at night to be late at night.

"Ok you just heard the weirdest answering machine in the tri state area, and I know we should probably try to get it changed, but…"

The voice when it came was deep, and awful, the kind added by voice cloaking technology.

"**_It's almost midnight Miss O'Neal. Do you know where your husband is?" _**

Fire crackled away in poorly lit October night, consuming damp copies of the _Daily Bugle. _The smell wasn't bad…but not great either. Raphael watched the rags and tatters huddled around it, bathing in the little comfort of its light. It was hard to think of them as people from up here, in the open hiding place of the roof, especially when a creature of feeling of indifference gnawed at him. And somehow…a feeling of resentment. These were shells, displays of people who had been stupid enough to waste their lives and bring the foundations down on them selves as a result of what was purely suicidal ,yet left them alive. They were different. But they were human. They didn't have to hide.

A clatter behind him made him break his unconscious monitoring. The clatter of wood, plastic and steel. He half turned, almost unable to break his gaze from the creatures below.

"Jesus Casey…you wanna let 'em know were up here?"

Casey ignored the berating, continuing to rummage through his bag. A trench coat and fedora were removed, while the damn bats and clubs banged off one another, each sound slicing on Raphael's nerves.

"Very Bogart. Should cover up that stupid _Knicks_ sweater you got on."

"Ha ha. It's not for me genius."

The fedora was tossed towards Raphael. It was _snatched_ out of the air, suddenly at Raph's side without appearing to have really changed direction at all.

"No." Resigned answer, resigned opinion.

_Here we go. _

"I don't need it cause some of these guys know me." Casey shrugged.

He didn't add "_And I'm human."_

By Raph's expression he didn't have to. He brandished the coat as if it were an AK 47.

_Damn. _

"Casey. I .Am .Not .Wearing .This. You can go down there and play PI all you want, but I'm sticking to the shadows. _Ninja style_, remember? Not "spooking the natives?"

_And yet_, Casey noted, _you've got it over your_ _arm now._

"Look what's more likely, them explaining something to a couple a guys, or them explaining something to one guy and a turtle?"

He wanted to explain just because these people ended up outside society didn't mean they stopped watching it, that in the quiet of an alley way, where life in the real world consisted of curses and car horns, the noise of lives moving on right by them, how the senses became sharper, how old ears picked up the sounds of rats, how just because they stopped for the real world didn't mean it stopped for them. Invisible though they were made they learned to flow between the lives like salmon in a stream. Except although they shouldn't have to, the stream always lead down river.

What he actually said was "These guys are sharper than you think."

There was the sound of vomiting below, then some of the bundles moving away from the offender, who promptly burped. Raph threw him a glance.

"Oh yeah…real Harvard graduate material. You think this Count guy'll actually have anything we can use?"

Casey raised an eyebrow. "We? I thought you were just here to "Keep an eye on me"? Don't tell me I actually managed to make _you _feel guilty." It was stupid but he couldn't resist, and the way Raph had been acting lately, well… frankly he deserved it.

"I am watching your ass wise guy, but lets face it, these people have had a tough time making it _this_ far. I doubt staying in circulation with the rest of the world was a real issue for 'em." Raph said, practically River Dancing around the subject, taking another look over the roof. In a warped fascination, he realised he was trying to pick up the smell of the vomit.

It was hard, what with the smell of the over stuffed dumpster the bums seemed to have used as a bathroom, and the cocktail of other aromas hiding in the alley.

Raphael continued to watch the one who had vomited, like a bug hunter, who was now being consoled by a friend. Laughter floated up through the night air, accompanying the stink.

Casey coughed, the suddenness breaking Raphael out of his naturalist observations. His eyes shone, knowing exactly what Raphael was doing.

"Put it on and come down. You _need_ to"

"Hey, don't worry Sammy…coulda happened ta anybody."

Bobby Gareth leaned back, not because of the smell, but because the boy clearly had no more need for comforting. Or at least tried to convey it by nodding. In the alleys that could mean anything.

_Or he could just be drunk. In which case he could have at least passed the bottle around before this. _

Old worn cotton meeting familiar warm damp stone, Bobby leant against _his_ part of the alley. Because it was almost all he had. Almost. Not that Al would ever admit it.

Tin clinked, pulling him from half begun musings and a constant half not there wish that he had a bottle. Every one was alert, not quite alive…but alert. Things in the alleys some times got crazier, more often than not connected to Al, as if dragged along behind him, like one of those damn stupid pieces of chain…

…poor guy.

"Al?"

"'Fraid not Mr Garret."

Nope. Not Al. _Definitely_ not Al.

"Ya still got to introduce me to this Al guy. What is he: shy? He got some kind of skin disease or something?"

_Ohhhh…Al would appreciate that. Then again…no. No he wouldn't. _Bobby almost burst into pant wetting laughter. "Or something. How are ya doing Arnold?"

The dark long haired Knicks fan (_He should get that cut. _Bobby thought) blushed with what was more embarrassment than October cold.

"It's Casey please sir. Casey. Please call me Casey."

"Then call me Bobby son. "Mr Garret" was my old man." Bobby gestured, tipping an invisible bottle of finest uptown ale in salute.

"You know this guy?" Sammy asked. Defensively.

_Oh yeah,_ Bobby thought, biting back a wince, _he got thrown out of his place by a social worker. _

"Sammy Romano meet Casey Jones, works part time on the 23rd street kitchen. Best beds, stews and booze a guy could ask for." The salute again.

"And one of the few guys actually interested in finding these poor bastards before something screwed up happens to them."

"More screwed up than this?"

Oh yeah, it had been an upstate house too, 5 bedrooms, huge garden. Expensive …and close enough to Sammy that he cried about it at night along with the other poor slobs huddled in rags and trash that could serve as bedding. Then again Sammy sometimes showed signs that he wasn't…all there.

A temper, bitterness that had been there long before he arrived in the alleys, crying out at night in his sleep, screaming even…

Bobby didn't like rumor, could get a fella real hurt, but Sammy was said to have had a wife. One that was spoken of in bitter tones. One that had shown up with a crushed trachea. That kind of explained the need for a social worker.

"Err look Mr. Romano…the guys at the center try to help out where we can. Ever since Mary went missing…well, some people have tried to …investigate the situation. We wanna show that people still care…"

"Yeah…you care enough to throw me out of my damn house!"

"Easy!" Bobby rose suddenly, towering over the lanky blond, eyes intense.

The younger cringed, shrank back. Snake green gazed into nut brown…and found no malice there.

"I'm just saying man…what can these bastards do to help?"

"Watch it punk."

The voice could have been from Brooklyn, if it hadn't been so …hard. Young but hard. Probably with cold steel to back it up.

Wary eyes turned to shadows, where something stood, trench coated.

_And_, Bobby thought with the new cynicism that allowed every one to survive in Rat city, _only visible now cause he wants us to see him. _

And that shine…was that metal? Did the guy have on one of those bullet proof vests or something? It was sort of glossy, scaly. Reptilian. All over.

The bum glanced from Sammy (who had shrunk into a numb crouch), to the shadow, to a Casey who was, clearly if the way he rubbed the back of his neck was anything to go by, agitated.

"You uh…you goanna introduce us to your friend Casey?"

The hand moved up to the mane of black hair, nothing to do with an itch.

"Ok, ok um…this is …Raph. He's a friend."

Blue eyes scanned the alley, searching for any sign of belief or confirmation in the faces shifting in and out of the nervous light. Found nothing.

"A friend. Yeah."

Silence. Long and uncomfortable.

Enough, Bobby decided, was enough.

"Y'know son…folks round here have all kinds of differences. If you got one, ya don't want us to know about, or you just like sitting in the dark…well we're all good at keeping secrets.

The shadow swung towards Sammy.

"_All_ of us."

Another pause.

"Better yet…why don't I show you?" It wasn't really a real question. Raph stepped out of the shadows, and pulled off the fedora.

Cold rancid water lapped against stone, giving way to lukewarm and the overhead drone of purifying plants. Leonardo moved swiftly, silent as a leaf in a summer breeze, tacking every turn, every passage way, every route with practiced ease, every single path burned into his memory.

A right, a left, down a route of drainage systems …Splinter had made sure every passage way of the underground world was recognizable to each of them, what couldn't be walked on or climbed was ignored.

What you couldn't go around, over, under or through wasn't worth your time, an obstacle. And what lay ahead, blocking out light from the aging over head utility lights definitely counted.

Leonardo paused, taking in twisted pipe and crammed steel mesh, preventing water logged stone and unidentifiable garbage from simply falling into the current of the sewer trickle.

_One hell of a blockage. _A quick glance took in rusted pipes and fading brick work for confirmation. _This part of the sewer isn't in that much use, compared to the other systems its ancient. But how can this much damage just lie here without someone noticing it? _Nostrils flared: the smell of stale concrete disturbed by air. _Correction__, they did. They just knocked through a couple of walls and let the out flow drain into one of the other systems. Water levels lower here, which must mean it works as a temporary method until they can get some heavy machinery down here. _

Another scan, this one focused on the centre of the blockage.

_Whoa. _

Rust glinted among rubble and mesh, a large sewer pipe, no different from any of the others nestling above. Each one of those leaned straight ahead, no matter what direction. In a life of shadow and chaos, Leonardo felt they provided some sense of direction, of purpose, of order. Seeing one like this was discomforting.

It lay there, and if Leonardo knew anything about weapons, had been _cut _out of the ceiling. Smashed off to by the look of the other end. Rust was growing in small patches in a few areas, one large patch at the smashed end, probably happened recently, maybe a few months ago.

Why was he even stopping to _think_ about this?

A wrecked sewer pipe and …God knew what up in the city. Not much of a contest.

But something about the wreckage pulled at him, called at shadows, itching.

Water rippled lightly as Leonardo took a few steps forward, bent down in front of the blockage.

_What am I now? A detective? Still…something strong enough to cut and tear down a sewer pipe…we're not in natural territory anymore. Then again when are we ever? _

A look at the clean cut, then the damaged part again.

_And this is New York. Home of urban legends, mutants and superheroes. One of those minorities probably got in a brawl with one of the others…or their own group. The news says as much every day. _

This was starting to get annoying, and he didn't know why. Which was more annoying.

_Now what? _

A look at the rest of the debris, another at the pipe. He hesitated, tentatively raised a hand, and pushed through the mesh. Touched metal.

_Chains danced in shadows, survival backed up by fury. He couldn't breathe, but he could smell. Rancid flesh, ancient brick and decay. Claws slashed at him, spindly arms with a steel cable grip flailed at him, going for the neck. The thing danced before him, wide mantis eyes wild. It charged forward suddenly at chest height, ramming him. He felt something shift but sluggishly, as if steel was pushing against steel. The thing was talking, impossibly it was talking, too wide jaw snapping and dancing but he couldn't hear it, his ears were full of cotton and whatever it was might as well have been whispering. No feeling, no hearing. But there was sight. And emotion. Rage. There was a vague sensation of a weight on his back loosening through the steel, and something so crimson it was almost black flew past him, fast and sharp joining the chains in a frenzy as they beat the hellish thing back. Something dripped into his eye, water and rust. Then vision was obscured as something crashed down between them and he was moving in a drowning chocking rush of water, pushing him back and away from the nightmare._

Water crashed around Leonardo as he fell back. He'd _been_ there, part of the darkness behind another pair of eyes. Tinted slightly, in green.

The experience was terrible, yet danced before him just out of reach, drizzling out of his mind like a sieve, hiding behind frustration at not being able to recall understanding, or understanding to recall.

_What the hell? _

The chamber echoed with something that echoed like a bats wing flapping, and it took him a while to realise it was his breathing, coming sharp. He shivered. His head felt terrible. As bad as when he'd been above ground. On the roof.

A wrecked sewer pipe and God knew what in the city. Not much of a contest. But they seemed almost tied together, bound by the white hot ropes of whatever had happened to him. Whatever _was_ happening to him.

These…attacks (they struck so hard and fast there really was no other name) were linked together in something dangerous. Something dangerous to his family.

_Protect your family. That is what you do. It is why you breathe, so they may breathe. Even if you do not._

That had kept him going through every fight; that he could make the world safer for them, even if he wasn't there to rest in it with them. That was why he had to get back home. To start the journey to that world.

He took one last deep breath.

"Whatever" He said to the wreckage. Then turned away and ran down the passage.

_11.36_

A mist hung over the river, harsh salt smells dancing out of it and burying themselves amid the shadows of the docks. A mixture of urban decay and utilitarian sterilisation was washed in the October night and fog. Almost completely hidden.

Which suited Spawn .

Hopefully though he wouldn't be here too long. Just long enough to send a long loud message to this Sahara bastard.

_If _he ever showed up.

The costume shifted subtlety around his muscles, danced irritably through his skin. It was growing tired of waiting. The cape was eager to smother and break, the chains probed the air, steel snakes out for blood.

**STOP IT. **

It was like this in any guerrilla mission. Sit. Wait. Strike.

This situation was no different. Except camouflage and briefings had been replaced by the Malibolgia's uniform and stolen glances at Burke's files.

He had read the address, reading quickly as only black ops could teach.

But that didn't mean he had to like staring at it for a good 20 minutes.

The main problem was still there: he didn't know what to expect going in or what he was looking for. Other than the remains of some alley way bums.

He'd only found out about the deliveries and trucks through eavesdropping and interrogation, and had been unable to find the trucks drop off spot until tonight's little conversation with Burke gave him a name and an address. But still no reason or warning. No motive, nothing. That was going to change tonight though, if he could just hold out till he knew what he was up against.

The wait was playing against military discipline but he'd wait all night if he had to.

However he didn't have that long.

He'd spared enough time to grab one of the two standard issue government cannon's he kept hidden in the alleys and pounded across the rooftops like a living shadow, crouching here waiting , cradling the weapon and irritably aware of the clock ticking.

Burke and Williams would be moving soon and he wanted the warehouse open to spill any and all secrets for them to go over in the lab while he hit the underworld right in the under belly with something sharp, trying to get something on this Swedish meatball that would tie him to the kidnappings and remind all that rat city was Spawn territory.

Then, _maybe_, he'd find out what caused that pain in the ass head ache which still lingered slightly at the back of his mind.

Hidden in the cold shadow of colder steel beams and chimneys, a soldier's gaze, washed in hellfire emerald, searched the cracked concrete and wooden shadows.

Found nothing.

Not yet any way.

_Perimeter **looks** clear enough. Sounds like it too. This is the correct address…doesn't seem occupied…_

A purr of tires in night time air.

…_yet… _

Amber dock lights flared on, probably automatic because as far as Spawn could see no one was actually inside the building. These guys on the outside though…laughter and pounding music burst out of the cab, something he didn't recognise. Sounded something like, switching back, no time to look back. That was all he could make out. Loud as hell though.

_Idiots, _Spawn though vaguely, _light up a neon sign, why don't you. _

He drew back slightly; light would still catch black plastic reinforced metal.

"C'mon man…_lighten up_ fer God's sake!"

The passenger was wearing a bulky hooded shirt, an unidentifiable colour in the night, and seemed to be banging his head in time to the music. If you could call it that.

Another one, completely identically dressed, except for the dreadlocks and Rastafarian hat, slipped out after him, giggling irritatingly. The one packing heat from the obvious bulge in his pocket. Fairly small heat by the look of it too, but it could have been a tank and it wouldn't have mattered to Spawn.

Then again pistols were often the best mask for a sub machine gun.

"Aww leave him alone man. If Pete wants to look like he's high on anti depressants or something all the time then that's his problem. More boozes for us!"

More laughter.

Two guards and a driver then.

Not much but presumably if Sahara had kept these drop offs quiet for this long then security was seen as surplus to requirements. Foolish.

Possibly too foolish

A garage door trembled open and the truck rumbled in slowly, the sounds of hydraulics and wheels adding to the music.

Spawn slithered from his perch, using it all to conceal any sound of his progress to the warehouse roof. Not that he made any.

"Hey, what are we getting paid for again?" A thumb was jerked to the garage, where that damn music still echoed through the fog. Port authority had to have been bribed away; there was practically no other way anyone would _not_ ignore this. The lights maybe but the noise!

"Sure ain't the company."

Rastafarian boy shrugged. "Dunno man but with 200 grand per night waiting ta get dumped on us? S' worth it. Hey, maybe we'll be able to get some solid gold sticks to shove up our asses…we'll get em from the same place Pete got his!"

Moronic laughter and that giggle…vaguely similar to Chapel's. Could have been Chapel too if not for the small beer belly.

"What's up with him though Tom? I mean…you've been doing this longer than I

have. He always like this? And why is whatever's in there so frigging _cold_?"

"Long as I've known him. Guess the chill keeps …whatever it is fresh. Anyway Jude, you wanna get the guys together this Saturday?"

Pete, Tom, and Jude. Spawn was not very religious, but he knew enough to see the subtle and sick disciples joke that was going on here. Someone had tried to yank his chain. And he had a hell of a lot of chain.

Then suddenly, the dock was quiet. Pete had turned off the music. There was silence. Demanding shadow. And one pissed off hell spawn.

_Enough. _

Shadow wrapped around hell born black and blood red, slipping slowly closer to the truck. The warehouse drive way was surrounded by shipping containers, technically illegal but no one in this cesspool would care. They provided enough cover for the truck. Enough for him.

Chains banged once off earthly metal. Then twice.

"What was that?"

Another strike, to the left. The cloak caught the wind and knifed out, flashing hellfire crimson once in the dock lights, before darting back to the shadows.

"Maybe…maybe it's…_the bat_!"

Okay, _that _was just insulting.

A spike covered fist obliterated the fuse box, metal flashing sharply in the instantly dead after glow of the sparks.

The armed guard drew his piece, waving it chaotically at the shadows. Amateurishly, no hope of hitting a target if he could see it.

"I-I'm warning you man! I'm armed!"

A rattle of chain in the darkness. The sound of leather cutting through air. The hands holding the gun shook.

There was a whimper from the second guard. "Oh God…"

"You hear! I'm armed! I got a weapon!"

Emerald eyes burned with eager magic

**I AM A WEAPON. **

They didn't have a chance to scream.

He left them alive though, they might just have something to tell the rest of the class. From a hospital bed.

The safety clicked off. Spawn made sure it echoed into the storage room, bouncing through the room. His eyes burned like sickly green comets. The cloak wrapped tight around his shoulders, strong but light as gossamer. The chains danced ahead, whispering metallically to each other. Ready to bludgeon.

Time to get some answers.

**COME OUT PETE. WE NEED TO TALK.**

A shade, so grey it stood out against the warehouse darkness, stood with its back to him. He brought the gun up a few inches from the back of the shades neck. It still didn't turn.

Then…

"Yes. Yes we do…"

The man turned. And soulless black met surprised emerald.

Well THAT was overdue. Next chapter youll find out what demented old me is doing to poor little Leo, and the moment you've all really beenwaiting for scince I started: four mutant ninjas, one hellspawn and a hell of a lot of violence. Then the real story begins...


End file.
